The Thin Line Between Love and Hate

Summary: Leliana had said Zevran was more complex than he let on. She couldn't be more wrong – Zevran was not only complex: he was infuriating

He is staring at her again. He does that often. When he'd started doing it, Filauria had been patient enough to pay him no heed. He just must have been wary of the new company, she thought. After all, Leliana and Alistair also does Zevran a lot of staring, albeit suspiciously.

But having him stare at her after a long day of fighting darkspawn and mercenaries and fucking spiders is not helping placate her irritation.

"Would you stop that!" Filauria snaps at the elf not too far away from her.

Zevran simply shoots her an amused look before idly twirling the hilt of his Crow dagger around his fingers and looking away with a smirk.

Filauria grits her teeth and rakes her long fingers through raven-black hair away from her face in frustration.

Mana-depletion has always soured her mood. On top of that, she is tired and hungry and filthy and – she casts an angry glance at Zevran whose eyes just started following her once more – she is seriously debating on poking his eyes out.

And she would have, had Leliana not pointed out that they are nearing camp and that it looks like Wynne had already cooked dinner.

Filauria bolts to the bowl of stew at a moment's notice.

"Sometimes I wonder how she's even that small," Alistair muses out loud, watching her wolf down her share of tonight's ration.

Somewhere behind her, Leliana giggles. But frankly, she is just too hungry to pay them notice – for now.

She is just about to finish her bowl when the light-haired assassin sits to her left.

Filauria scowls. "What do you want?" she snaps at him in between mouthfuls.

"Don't talk when your mouth is full, 'Lauria," Wynne chides from across the campfire. The raven-haired elf, whose hunger is now sated enough to remember how table etiquette works, glances up at her sheepishly before consciously wiping the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand.

Beside her, Zevran laughs. "What a fine-mannered lady you are, no? You would put even the finest women of Orlais to shame!"

Her scowl deepens as she looks away, hiding the embarrassed blush that colors her face.

"Her manners are something, I'll give you that." While she is used to Alistair's friendly teasing, she isn't quite fond of the fact that he is doing it in front of the latest addition to their merry band of misfits.

Not even five days after his recruitment, and the group already acts like they are accustomed to the assassin's presence. There are suspicious glances here and there, sure, but no more hostile glares were thrown in his way – well, save for Filauria of course.

"Say that again when I save your sorry ass from bleeding to oblivion," she shoots back, bringing another scoop from her bowl to her mouth.

Alistair laughs. "Hey, Wynne's here. I think I'll manage."

"Oh, you know that I can't keep up with the lot of you as well as I should," Wynne says in her usual moderated voice. "Having another spirit healer saves a lot of trouble." The older woman stands and gingerly takes the clay bowls from their hands.

"I shall go clean these up. Go and wash the blood out of your faces, please," she says, casting Filauria a specific look before turning away.

The raven-haired mage sticks her tongue out at Alistair once Wynne is out of sight.

Alistair returns the gesture with funny face of his own before he moves away to wash up.

"I will help you as soon as I am ready, Wynne," Leliana offers as she hastily jogged to her tent.

Filauria is just about to stand when Zevran's voice stops her.

"Aren't you supposed to be volunteering to help as well?" he smiles, smiling up at her.

Filauria narrows her eyes at him as she crosses her arms. "Aren't you the little sexist?"

Slowly, Zevran stands and takes five small steps towards her until he is merely a whisper away from her petite frame. At this proximity, one can clearly see the height difference between the two. The assassin is about a head taller than she is… but that doesn't mean she is backing down.

She gives him a challenging look as she straightens her posture.

"Well if you really want to talk about sex," Zevran said in a low, teasing voice, "I'd be more than happy to oblige."

She feels her cheeks flame.

Filauria opens her mouth. And closes it again.

Andraste's ass – she has turned completely mum!

With a final glare, she raises her chin and storms away with all the little shreds of dignity she had left.

She hates him.

A/N: Before anything else, I would like to say that I truly, truly, truly intend to see this through the end. I am beginning to think short-chaptered fanfictions are the right kind for me. Anyway, I have about 10 chapters down and I don't know how many more to go! For now I am rating this T, but I might change it up to M if need be.

I am... sort of just going with the flow with this fanfiction with a clear-cut destination but unclear directions.

Oh well.

Fret not, I shall finish this one.

So psyched for DAI by the way!

Review~